


Carlos Something

by glythandra



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (probably), Brainwashing, Carlos Backstory, Carlos is Autistic, Carlos is Neurodivergent, Cecil Might be Human or Inhuman, M/M, Memory Loss, One Shot, Panic Attack, Re-Education, Sort Of, To An Extent, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Vomiting, mental health, sad scared carlos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 09:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glythandra/pseuds/glythandra
Summary: Re-education is a common occurrence in Night Vale. Long time citizens have become used to the occasional call to the city hall, and then waking up aproximatly three days later at home with their loved ones caring for them with no memory of the re-education.Re-education helps us.Re-education makes sure we are doing what is correct.Re-education makes sure we don’t remember anything illegal.New citizens of Night Vale often remember illegal things.Carlos can’t remember his own name, and there is a reason for that





	Carlos Something

**Author's Note:**

> content warning for panic attacks and vomitting  
> -  
> The summary has been edited from its original state because it didn’t fit right before but now we’re all good
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed!

Carlos had forgotten to take his medication yesterday, and it was only starting to affect him now. The feeling reminded him of his childhood years of pre-diagnosis, although now it was much stronger of a feeling. He had been taking the medication for a while now, and it had been helping with his symptoms, but because of this, it was a very sudden and exaggerated change in his brain's chemistry that it left a strain on him. This sort of fluctuation does tend to happen when switching dosages or trying a different chemical altogether, and Carlos had made the connection between his increased anxiety and his lack of consistent medication over the last few days. He knew why he was upset, just as he knew of all the other things that could make him upset (coffee, for example. The caffeine messed with his brain chemistry and made him more prone to panic attacks. He had actually made the connection between the caffeine and his symptoms when he was fairly young, and now tended to avoid such drinks unless he was having a particularly good day). There wasn't even a worldly reason for his overstimulation and anxiety today, nothing had happened in his life recently that was stressing him out, but he still felt it. Sometimes these things don't have a worldly reason. Sometimes it's because of chemistry (all the time, it was because of chemistry, but it wasn't always only chemistry). Sometimes there's no reason at all. His medication helped prevent the latter from happening as much as it used to.  


Medication was fairly easy to get in Night Vale. Unlike many other things that required what Carlos and all other outsiders thought to be unnecessary paperwork, medication was provided without much question. When Carlos first arrived in Night Vale, he had brought with him an almost-full bottle of each of his prescriptions, which he sorted out into his weekly organizer. For the next few days, he had followed the organizer, taking what he needed at night and in the morning. But only after what seemed to be a few days, he found that he had completely run out. They hadn't been stolen, and he hadn't been taking more than usual, he had just used them up. In a few days. Time was weird.  


He had asked the other scientists in his lab where he could find a doctor to refill his prescription. They had directed him to a bank near the mall, which Carlos went to apprehensively. The bank, he found, had no tellers. Instead, there were people of all sizes wearing purple ruffled capes and plague doctor masks. Carlos thought this to be a good sign of the possibility of medical expertise. He approached one of the not-tellers and asked to see a doctor. He got no response other than the sound of each of the not-tellers beaked masks tapping the keys to the typewriters in front of each of them. Carlos rang the bell on the desk. The not-teller in front of him looked up.  


"Yeah?" the annoyed voice of a teenage girl sounded through the mask. Carlos was nervous. Not anxious, for that was a completely different thing from nervosity, but he was just worried. Not Worried, for that was a completely different thing from worriedness. Carlos was simply nervous. And worried.  


"Um, hi, uh, I'm new in town and I-"  


"Interloper!" hissed the not-teller, causing Carlos to wince.  


"Um, anyways, I have medication, and I sort of ran out somehow, and I need more, but I don't have any of my medical records here and-"  


"REBECCA!" the not-teller in front of Carlos screamed, pushing her chair back as she stood up. "PERFECT CARLOS THE SCIENTIST NEEDS TO SEE YOU!" It put Carlos off, the fact that the whole town knew him, despite being only a few days (was it?) since he got here, as Carlos The Perfect Scientist. He suspected it had very much to do with the community radio host's obsession with him. It seemed that everyone was listening to the radio, and everyone seemed completely unbothered by bothering information spread on the show. Their reactions bothered him.  


The door behind the not-tellers opened to reveal a gap, and a crack of bright light shined through. However, when the door opened wider, the light did not spread, it only remained a sliver by where the door had first opened, The line of light seemed to make its way out of the door frame as it walked (floated?) toward the not-teller and Carlos. He stared, until he remembered that other people don't like it when people stare at them. Although he supposed that this bar of light might not be a person as people are normally thought of, so perhaps it didn't care about the arbitrary rules that all of society insisted on following. The not-teller turned around to address it.  


"REBECCA," she said, still screaming. Carlos pondered if this was the proper way to address Rebecca. "PERFECT CARLOS THE SCIENTIST NEEDS MEDICATION!" Carlos wondered the point of calling Rebecca out to the lobby if the not-teller was just going to shout the information anyway. Rebecca did seem to want a private audience, however, as it moved back toward the door and the not-teller pointed Carlos to it. He decided this probably meant that they wanted him to go in the room.  


Carlos sat in one of the two neatly upholstered chairs in the small room he was led to. Rebecca sat on the chair opposite to him and seemed to cross its non-existent legs to try and give off the impression of a relaxed environment. This made Carlos feel anxious. Rebecca noticed and uncrossed its non-existent legs in favor of a more neutral position.  


"What do you need these medications for?" it asked, raising a non-existent eyebrow in suspicion. Carlos fidgeted in his seat.  


"I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Asperger's syndr-" Rebecca cut him off.  


"Oh, okay then," Rebecca said, seemingly disappointed. "I thought you were going to do science or something," it no longer looked at Carlos with a suspicious gaze. "We don't allow people to do science with our medicine, unless we know they are very qualified," Its non-existent eyes narrowed as it stared at Carlos for a few seconds. He thought that maybe Rebecca had wanted a reply, so he opened his mouth to give it one, only to be interrupted again. "which I bet you are. Very qualified. If you wanted to do science with medicine you probably could," Rebecca sat up straighter. "You could, but you probably don't want to, right?" Carlos tried to answer its question but was cut off again. "Right. You don't want to do that." Rebecca waved a non-existent wrist to indicate that this was a silly topic, why were they even discussing this? "I'll write you a prescription for John Peter, remember, the pharmacist?" Carlos did remember. "He's got a shop by the Moonlite. It should be ready by tomorrow morning."  


"But I haven't even told you what I need-"  


"I know what you need and you will get it!" Rebecca shouted. Carlos thought he did something wrong, but then it smiled with its non-existent mouth. "Leeeaaaave," it whispered, confusing Carlos even more. Rebecca opened the door for him and Carlos was immediately assaulted by the cacophonous tapping of the not-tellers' typewriters. He flinched, and Rebecca lifted a non-existent hand to signal to the not-tellers. They stopped their typing. Carlos thanked Rebecca, Rebecca thanked Carlos, and the not-tellers thanked Carlos, and Carlos thanked the not-tellers, and Carlos left. 

* * *

The next morning he stopped by John Peter's (you remember, the pharmacist) drug store. John greeted Carlos with a smile and handed him a bag filled with cardboard boxes before ordering Carlos to get off his property, which Carlos quickly did. When he arrived at the private room in the lab he had been staying at for the past however long it's been, he opened the bag and took out the boxes. Carefully, he undid the packing tape around the edges of the lids to open them. Two of the three boxes were empty, and Carlos was starting to get worried that this was all a joke, that everything in Night Vale had been a joke, that they were all going to start calling him Carlos the Horrible Man Who Is Not Qualified To Be A Scientist And Certainly Not Qualified To Do Science With Medicine. But he opened the last box and found a stack of bright orange bottles. He read the labels.  


They were all exactly what he had needed, exactly what he had brought with him and subsequently ran out. The date was different, but that was to be expected, although it was not different in the way one would think the date would change. The date had been typed over many times until it was illegible, and this eye-catching blob of ink caused Carlos to investigate the rest of the label. The name was different as well. It was not what he knew as his name from before he came to Night Vale, however it was the name that he would be called from now on.  


_The Scientist, Carlos._  


This was written not as a description of his quality or profession, but as a surname. Carlos hurriedly dug out The empty pill bottles that he had brought with him to compare the labels. His old bottles read his first name perfectly, but in the place of his surname, there were two underscores. He hadn't remembered this being there before. Or had he? He stared at the old bottle, then back at the new. Did… did he have a last name? He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember his last name? What was it? Carlos was now extremely anxious and extremely Worried. Heat built up in his gut and his breathing was blocked by his throat constricting. He twirled his fingers together relentlessly, beginning to pace the room on his tiptoes. Why didn't he remember his name? What was his name? Think, think, think! Carlos… something. Carlos something, Carlos what? What was it? His breathing became more grasping and he rushed over to the trashcan to throw up. He remained there, standing over the trash can for a few moments, feeling that sinking feeling in his gut from the vomit that acted as a temporary relief from the panic. Carlos something, Carlos something, Carlos Something.  


Then something strange happened. Something that had never happened before. Almost like a sedative, the anxiety eased. Not like a switch, but like a scale. And as the anxiety left and Carlos's breathing caught up with him again, a new feeling replaced it. Somehow worse. This wasn't right, whatever this new feeling was, it wasn't right. He felt his breathing slow and his eyelids droop as he struggled to remain awake. This wasn't right.  


He knew what panic attacks felt like. He had just had one. But this feeling of complete slowness was no longer his anxiety. It was as though something was inside his lungs, inside his brain sending a haze over it. It was calming, and that terrified him. This wasn't right, something was wrong, something bad is going to happen, he's going to die, he's going to die in a fucked up town without even knowing his own last name. He could call someone, someone from the university, his mother, anyone from his previous life. He just needed to know. What was it? Think; Carlos something, Carlos Something, Carlos Something, Carlos...  


His thoughts slowed as the sedative-like feeling intensified, taking over his entire being. Carlos felt he needed to scream, but he couldn't. He stood there, still standing by the trash can, paralyzed in sloth and fear as the haze washed over him and sent him into an unrealistic calm, a wrong, incorrect calm. He couldn't stop it. The anxiety was lifting, he could move now, but he still felt wrong. Not in the way he sometimes feels wrong for mental health reasons, but different. Worse. He felt something missing.  


Carlos staggered away from the trashcan and leaned against a wall, tapping his fingers rhythmically against it. Breathe. Plug one nostril, slow the heart rate. Four. Seven. Eight. Four. Seven. Eight. Think about the problem, think of how to solve it.  


The problem: He didn't know his name.  


The problem: He couldn't think.  


He needed to call someone. Someone who knew him from before. He racked his brain for some sort of connection he had to anyone, anything outside of Night Vale. The University. He could call the University. But what even was the name of the University? The University of… something. Carlos Something. U of Something. University, university. University.  


What university? The haze drifted deeper into his consciousness. He couldn't remember the name of any university, much less any that had a connection to him. Why was he even thinking of a name? The unnatural calmness made him feel warm. What was this calmness? His body felt wrong. His mind felt wrong. His name felt wrong. Nothing made sense, the moment a thought popped into his mind it just slipped away. He just had to keep thinking, over and over, so he wouldn't lose it. Remember. Remember. Remember. Remember what? What did he need to remember? This blissful, hazy ignorance was contentful enough. He didn't need to remember anything. Just stay here. Just float. The haze will help him forget.  


No. He needed to remember. He wasn't fully conscious or in control of his desires, but he needed to break out of whatever spell this was. He needed to remember, that was the first step. He had to have known someone before this haze. It seemed like it had gone forever, like there was never a before, never would be an after, but he knew it had to have started at some point. Or maybe it hadn't. But he had an inkling of a time before. He needed to contact someone from before. Who is someone he would have known? He couldn't remember anyone. Who is someone most people know? Most people have parents. He could call his parents.  


He pulled out his phone, barely feeling it as his sudden need for awareness to his surroundings told him he was lying on the floor. Slowly, but as fast as he could, he brought his phone in front of his face. His eyes wouldn't focus, so he stared at it until some semblance of visual understanding overcame him. What did he need to do now? He was going to call someone, wasn't he? He opened the phone app to be assaulted by number buttons to which he had no combinations. Switching over to the contacts section, he decided to use a different approach. Who was he calling? His mother, he was calling his mother. What was her name? What was her mother's name, what was his name? He put an "M" in the search box.  


Mamá  


He still didn't know her name. He clicked on the contact, only to hear a series of tones and be directed to the contact page, which, in the place of a cell phone number, had a series of zeroes. His panic returned to him as he looked scrolled through all of his contacts, each one disappearing before he had the chance to click it. On and on, all of the names of the people he knew, all of his records of a time Before disappeared. Every single contact, except one. His eyes had practically glazed over, but he managed to blink, to try and make out the words. Was he having a stroke? He blinked again and clicked the contact.  


Sheriff's Secret Police  


This contact had a real number.  


The phone rang twice and was answered by nothing. Carlos responded, his words slurred.  


"Iiiiiiiii think i'mhavv-vving" he managed, his thoughts turning to molasses. "a strrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroke" his eyes were too heavy, his brain and body to tired. He closed his eyes.  


"We will arrive very soon, Carlos The Scientist."  


* * *

 

Carlos woke with a gasp. That gasp then left him coughing, as he had not been breathing normally for quite some time. He quickly glanced around to survey his surroundings, finding himself laying on a bed in a small, bright room. The lights hurt and a familiar yet still painful feeling of panic soaking into him. His breath quickened and he plugged one nostril to regulate the amount of air intake. He sat up and discovered wires attached to his head and a needle poking into his arm, and his anxiety worsened as he saw where it met his skin. He ripped the needle out and immediately regretted it. It was probably medical, and medicine is probably to keep him safe, and it's probably science. He left all the other wires attached.  


A loudspeaker cracked overhead as Carlos cringed, cracking his knuckles in a form of stimulation.  


"CARLOS THE SCIENTIST," the speaker boomed and Carlos felt his anxiety increase to a panic attack. "YOU HAVE BEEN SUBMITTED TO THE HOSPITAL FOR RE-EDUCATION," Re-education? What was this? He had run out of knuckles. "SOMEONE WANTS TO SEE YOU. HE'S KIND OF BEEN BEGGING US AS SOON AS YOU GOT HERE AND HE'S HONESTLY BECOME SUPER ANNOYING, SO WE'RE JUST GOING TO LET HIM IN TO GET HIM OUT OF OUR FACES. SORRY IF HE KILLS YOU, OR SOMETHING. I DON'T KNOW,"  


A man rushed in through a door that Carlos hadn't noticed before and Carlos began subconsciously crunching the paper bedding. The man walked, limping but still quick, over to the side of his bed and he kneeled down, looking confused. No, not confused; concerned. Carlos sat up straighter and his eyes widened in fear.  


"Carlos?" the man said, reaching out to touch his arm.  


"No touching," Carlos said. The man's arm retreated.  


"Carlos, how are you feeling?" Carlos hugged the hand-knitted blanket wrapped around him.  


"Who are you?" Carlos asked, his voice shaking.  


"It's alright, Carlos. My name's Cecil," Cecil. That was the name of the radio host, the radio host who had been seemingly stalking Carlos.  


"What do you want from me?" said Carlos, as he backed as far away from Cecil as he could in the bed.  


Cecil looked hurt. He glanced down at the ground. "I don't want anything Carlos. I'm just checking in on you to make sure you're okay. Re-education can be kind of taxing the first time-"  


"What are you talking about? What is re-education? Why am I here? What is going on?" Cecil moved to put a hand on Carlos's shoulder, remembering his aversion to touching as Carlos flinched  


"Take it easy," Cecil said, looking into Carlos's eyes. "Everything is okay, everything is fine-"  


"Tell me what is going on."  


Cecil sighed. "Re-education is a procedure that happens to everyone at different times." he began. "It helps us. It makes sure we are doing what is correct." Carlos's eyes widened.  


"What- like- like brainwashing?" he said. Cecil flinched.  


"We're not allowed to say that Carlos," Cecil said. "From what the secretary and the secret police tell me-"  


"Secret police?" Carlos exclaimed.  


"Yes, now let me finish," Cecil said. "They tell me that you were starting your re-education in one of your science rooms. You know, I'm really into science these days, Carlos," Carlos did not look interested. "Anyway, basically, since you're new here in Night Vale, you were remembering a lot of things that weren't allowed. And because of that, the re-education began to… re-educate you. Most people start getting a weird feeling or something beforehand and go to the hospital themselves so they don't have to go through it all by themselves. But I guess you didn't do that," Carlos squeezed the blanket tighter as he stared at the blue wall in front of him. "So you underwent most of your re-education in your science room alone. I'm really sorry about that, it must have been really confusing and scary, and..." Cecil trailed off as he saw that Carlos had started to cry. "Oh."  


"I can't remember," Carlos said, tears falling down his perfect face. "I can't remember my name, I can't remember anything from before." Carlos sniffed. Cecil wanted to reach out. He wanted to hold Carlos's hand, he wanted to squeeze it, he wanted to hug him. But he didn't.  


"It's okay, Carlos," Cecil said instead. "You don't need to remember that. I know its really bad right now, I know everything seems so far away and just out of reach. But it's going to be okay. I promise." Carlos reached out to hold Cecil's hand, and Cecil held back. "You don't need to remember all that. You don't need to remember the past. What matters is now. What do you know now?" Carlos looked up at the ceiling, using his other hand to wipe the tears off his face.  


"I'm… a scientist," Carlos mumbled.  


"Yeah," Cecil said with a small smile as he squeezed Carlos's hand. "Yeah, you are," Cecil put his other palm over their two hands. "Do you know anything else?"  


"My name…" Carlos said quietly.  


"Say it," Cecil said. "make it real."  


"My name," he paused. He thought. "is Carlos The Scientist,"  


And then he passed out.

* * *

Cecil had stayed sitting in the chair next to Carlos's bed for a long time, worried out of his mind. Carlos had fallen asleep still holding Cecil's hand, and Cecil decided it would be best to not let go. He kept telling himself that everything was going to be fine, that it was just re-education, everyone goes through it at some point in their life, but a part of him couldn't help but worry that it was having a worse effect on Carlos than on anyone else. Part of him worried that his beautiful, perfect Carlos would be taken away from him. He did not want that. And he hated seeing Carlos suffer, seeing how terrified he was when his memories slipped away. It happens to everyone, its just re-education, Cecil kept trying to convince himself. But thinking of it that way only made him hate the re-education itself. He had always thought of re-education as just a procedure that happens sometimes, that does some things. But he'd never actually seen it happen to someone. It had happened to him, of course, multiple times, but he'd always forget it. That was part of the re-education. He knew that the first time someone was re-educated, it was different. There was too much illegal remembering for it to be done in City Hall like normal. New residents of Night Vale often triggered it themselves, and then when to the hospital. Seeing someone so heartbroken, seeing Carlos so terrified gave Cecil a whole new perspective. Carlos was mumbling in his sleep and it scared Cecil. It scared him to think of what Carlos was going through.  


"Help me..." Carlos slurred. "help..." Cecil didn't understand. He needed to find a way to stop this re-education, this was wrong. Cecil stood up, his hand slipped out of Carlos's. "No," Carlos mumbled, his hand reaching out for Cecil's "I need… you," Carlos grabbed Cecil's hand and wouldn't let go.  


Cecil decided to stay. Whatever was happening, whatever was going to happen, Carlos needed him now. They could figure out the rest later.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote a while ago on a whim but I decided I'd publish it since I haven't been very active on here as of late (apologies!). I've been hopping from project to project which, to be honest, hasn't been very productive, but I'm working on more stuff so don't you worry! This is probably just a one shot but if anyone actually wants more I might continue. I do have a whole lot of other night vale fics planned as well. Thanks so so much for reading. Kudos are very much appreciated and comments will be treasured forever!!!!!!! Contact me on tumblr at glythandra.tumblr.com


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